


Someone's Waiting For You

by amine



Series: Delinquent AU [3]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-10-28 05:49:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10825056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amine/pseuds/amine
Summary: "There’s really no explanation for this. There’s no reason for him to be so drawn to Alfred, who is everything Arthur will never be—everything Arthur has set out to avoid his entire life."





	Someone's Waiting For You

**Author's Note:**

> AKA the super abridged in less than 1000 words version of my Delinquent AU. I know with 100% certainty that there is no way I'll have the fortitude to edit and revise such a massive work. idk if anyone would be interested in me just posting the stories I'm satisfied with if I add the context for earlier works?

There is just enough light in the room that Arthur is able to see across it, making out a figure on the other side. The end of his cigarette burns brightly when he inhales and in the gloom he can make out the almost misty cloud of smoke he exhales. He watches the figure on the other side of the room, careful not to make any sudden moves.

He’s not sure who he’s hiding from anymore—the police, his family, Gilbert maybe—but as long as he stays relatively quiet and still, he has at least a few moments of peace.

“Do you think someone might actually want me someday?”

Across the room, his reflection stares back at him with tired eyes. He chuckles.

“Hmm. That’s what I thought.”

He leans back and tilts his head to stare up at the ceiling. He can’t look at that face anymore.

* * *

There’s really no explanation for this. There’s no reason for him to be so drawn to Alfred, who is everything Arthur will never be—everything Arthur has set out to avoid his entire life. 

Every time he is inevitably drawn in by the heat of Alfred, the way his skin tastes, the noises he makes, and the way Alfred yields to him. Always. He can fuck Alfred against a concrete wall and Alfred will return, never once deterred. 

The more Alfred comes, the more Arthur has to admit that he’s very addicted and it’s becoming a problem.

* * *

“Can I..?”

When Alfred doesn’t finish his question, Arthur turns to look at him, though he just as quickly looks away.

“Can I hold your hand?” Alfred says the words in a rush and then inhales sharply. Arthur’s heart pounds at the same time his stomach drops somewhere near his feet.

“I’d…really rather if you didn’t.”

“Oh, sure.”

Alfred starts to fidget, and Arthur does his best to keep his composure until Alfred brings up the weather or something equally inane but distracting, so that Arthur can sit and listen and not give away that he is terrible company.

* * *

There is nothing complicated about sex. 

There is nothing complicated about having Alfred on his hands and knees, nothing complicated about fucking him until he comes with a babble of incoherent words.

What _is_ complicated is waking up next to him in the morning, eating toast and too many pancakes at _their_ kitchen table, and having _their_ toothbrushes next to each other on the sink. 

It’s not something he thinks he’ll ever get used to.

* * *

He’s becoming addicted again.

This time it’s to the feeling of Alfred above him—in him. Alfred, clumsy yet earnest, careful yet passionate, making slow love to him, gasping endearments into his ears, while Arthur tries to pull him closer and closer, never wanting the feeling to end.

It’s not just the heat, not just the sparks of pleasure that rush through him that he’s addicted to. Each time he feels more and more complete, more and more safe, more and more—

Wanted.

Loved.

He’s utterly addicted. With each day, not just during sex, the full feeling in his heart threatens to burst through, until those oh so difficult words have to tumble out, suddenly easy as breathing.

“I love you—!”

* * *

There’s nothing complicated about raking the leaves in their enormous yard, pausing only to drag another full bag to rest against the wall. There’s nothing complicated about accepting Alfred’s offer of hot apple cider as he comes out to help with the work.

Then, of course, it’s so very easy to scold Alfred for jumping into a pile of leaves he spent the better part of an hour raking, but it’s also just as easy to jump after him and shove leaves into his face, kiss him, lie with him, until work is forgotten amidst the sound of their laughter.


End file.
